


Nuit de larmes

by begracefulindefeat (yoi99)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, France National Football Team, Germany National Football Team - Freeform, M/M, UEFA Nations League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoi99/pseuds/begracefulindefeat
Summary: Presnel Kimpembe turned around in the direction of the very familiar voice to come face to face with Julian Draxler.Julian was smiling but Presnel knew there was something wrong. For starters, Julian's usually awkward yet bright smile had been replaced with a sadder and shyer one. And more importantly, he was in Paris, standing right in front of him, instead of being in Germany where he was supposed to.OrPresnel gets a surprised visit the day when France are playing without being on the field and nothing goes as it's supposed to.





	Nuit de larmes

“ _Bonne soirée.”_

Presnel Kimpembe turned around in the direction of the very familiar voice to come face to face with Julian Draxler.

Julian was smiling but Presnel knew there was something wrong. For starters, Julian's usually awkward yet bright smile had been replaced with a sadder and shyer one. And more importantly, he was in Paris, standing right in front of him, instead of being in Germany where he was supposed to.

“Julian.”

Pres hadn't meant to sound so breathless or surprised but by the look of Julian's face, like something had just broken inside of him, he knew he wasn't doing a very good job.

He cleared his throat. “W-what are you doing here? You should be in Germany.”

Julian grimaced, almost imperceptibly, before simply saying: “I withdrew from the squad, compassionate leave.”

The words echoed in Presnel's head like an echo: _compassionate leave_? Why was he just hearing about this now?

He was about to lash at Julian for not telling him sooner when he realized that the German was barely holding it together. With a sigh, Presnel grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from his teammates curious glances. He found an empty physiotherapy room and gently pushed Julian inside.

They sat down in one of the massage beds in silence for a while.

“Why compassionate leave, Jules?”

The midfielder didn't answer, too busy looking at his shoes. He had a small frown and was eerily quiet.

“Drax?”

“My grandfather died.”

“Oh.”

They stayed silent for a few minutes. Presnel hadn't felt so awkward and uncomfortable in ages. He wanted to make Julian feel better, the only problem was that he didn't know how. He could feel the smoke coming out of his ears as he tried to come up with an answer.

And then Julian started crying.

It was soft and quiet, his shoulders shaking with small sobs. Presnel felt his heart break and instinctively reached for Julian's hand. He squeezed it tightly and felt a tiny squeeze back. With a small smile, he slid closer to Julian, who buried his head on his shoulder, and sobbed harder. He took it as his cue to wrap his arms around Julian and hug him closely.

The room was silent except for Julian's cries. Presnel couldn't bring himself to say anything, so he just held him tightly and closely.

He wasn't used to seeing Jules cry. Even though he was probably the most awkward person he had ever met, he wasn't someone who broke down in tears easily (unlike Neymar or Antoine or many of his friends) or at least he wasn't someone who cried in front of him a lot. The only time he had probably seen him cry was when Germany was eliminated from the World Cup back in the summer. He only wondered how much it had hurt when France won and Presnel had been greeted back in Paris with congratulations and “I'm proud of you”s. Presnel found himself running his fingers through Julian's soft hair in a soothing manner, surprised when Julian didn't pull away, his hair usually being a big no-no except on very special occasions. 

Julian didn't want to pull away or stop crying or ever leave the comfort of Presnel's arms. He didn't want to go back to reality where they were facing relegation in the stupid Nations League and where his grandfather, who had been in as many matches as he had been able to since he was a little boy, wasn't there anymore. He didn't want to feel anything anymore, he just wanted Pres to hold him close and never let him go. But he heard someone wonder outside in French (real French not that mess of a language Julian spoke) where Presnel was and he knew that as much as he didn't want to, he had to leave.

He pushed off Presnel's chest softly and took a shaky breath, his hands resting on Presnel's chest, not daring to let go completely, at least for now. Sniffling, he wiped his cheeks and his eyes, focusing all his will on not starting to cry again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

If Julian had to be honest with himself, the question stung. This wasn’t Presnel’s problem, it was his and only his. They were on fucking international duty, and if Pres hadn’t found out it had been because he hadn’t wanted to.

“I thought you knew,” he didn’t mean to sound bitter. He really didn’t, he was just upset. “It’s everywhere online, you just need to google my name and it’s the first thing that pops up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, forgot I was supposed to do research instead of my boyfriend telling me when something is wrong,” the Frenchman replied, in a sarcastic tone.

Julian felt his ears rang. How had their moment turned into a fight so quickly? He wanted it to stop, wanted to go back to Presnel’s arms, wanted that nothing had ever happened.  


But it had, and he wasn’t about to let him win. “It was none of your business,” Presnel raised an eyebrow and, even though Julian knew that it was a lost cause (he didn’t have a character for fighting anyways), he forced himself to keep talking. “It wasn’t. And you made me promise we would keep it professionally, that no matter what, football always came first.”

Presnel remembered the conversation like it had happened yesterday. It had been a day he had sprained his ankle in practice, nothing serious but still needed to be checked up, and Julian had refused to leave him alone in the infirmary. Coach had gotten mad and scolded him for leaving practice and Presnel had made him promise to never pull something like that again, because as much as they loved each other, football was first. He never thought that rule would be used against him.

“We were on international duty,” Julian continued. “You were supposed to… you know… get classified and all that… So, I didn’t want to distract you and… I swear I thought you knew,” he stopped abruptly. “Wait, is that why you texted me ‘good luck’ last night?”

Presnel wanted to slap himself. He had texted that to Julian last night, completely oblivious that something was wrong. _Fuck_ , he had almost called him to beg him to win for them against Holland. Thank goodness he hadn’t.

“I can’t believe I did that,” he mumbled underneath his breath. “Jules I’m so sorry, I promise I didn’t know I-”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Julian’s lips crashed against his in a frantic kiss. It was a bit desperate, in Presnel’s opinion, not that he really minded, kissing Julian was always something he was willing to do, but he had to make sure that he was okay, instead of encouraging him to push down his feelings and replace them with lust. So, he softly pushed Julian away.

The reaction was instant. Pres’ heart sank as Julian slid away from him, turning his head so he wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You should go.”

Presnel wanted to disappear. He was trying to help, he didn’t mean to hurt Julian even more than he already was. “Jules, I didn’t mean… It’s not I don’t want to it’s just…”

But Julian wasn’t listening. He hopped of the bed and headed towards the door, completely ignoring Presnel desperate pleas and cries. The latter grabbed him by his wrist the second he was about to open the door, making Julian instantly start squirming, trying to break free from his grasp.

“Let me go!”

Presnel pulled him closer, holding him tightly against his chest. Julian kept squirming and screaming to let him go. The Frenchman didn’t listen, hugging him closely until the screaming faded, and Julian lay limp against his chest, fresh tears running down his cheeks.

“Let me go…” Julian repeated, his voice broken and tear-stained.

And Presnel did.

Not completely though, scared that Julian would run away. Instead, he put his hands in his shoulders and held him at arm’s length. The German gave him a shy glance before looking away for what felt like the thousand time of the ten minutes they had been together.

“Jules.”

No answer.

“Julian.”

Still nothing.

“Julian, please look at me.”

He knew he sounded desperate, he knew he had brought it upon himself when he had pulled out from Julian’s kiss, he knew all of that but the only thing that mattered to him at the moment was Julian. So, when the chocolate brown gaze finally found his own, he realized he didn’t know what to do next.

“I’m sorry,” Julian just stared at him, without saying a word. “For everything. I shouldn’t have lashed out, you had every right not to tell me and about the kiss…”

Presnel stopped, he needed to think about his words so that they didn’t come out the wrong way. Julian was still looking at him, his eyes red rimmed and his cheeks flushed, stained with tears, waiting for him to finish talking. He continued.

“I don’t think that kiss is what you… what we needed, you know, in that exact moment. I was confused, and you were upset and… I didn’t want you to just start confusing feelings or something like that… I… I don’t know Julian, I didn’t want you to do something you might regret later and feeling like I was taking advantage of you or… or…”

“Okay, just shut up.” Presnel blinked in shock. “Look I was… I’m just upset, okay? Maybe, I took it to heart, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize, I’m not going to break because you pulled away from a kiss. Sure, it isn’t a very nice feeling but… I can handle it.” 

And Presnel just wanted to kiss Julian.

He wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt. Julian was the bravest person Presnel had ever met and the fact that he was so calm (well, ignoring the fact he had been crying for five minutes straight) comforted and worried Pres at the same time. Julian wasn’t saying anything else, looking down at his shoes again and fidgeting with his fingers. The Frenchman sighed at how cute he looked and slowly put his hands over his. Their eyes met and Presnel had to resist the urge to kiss Julian once more. The German was biting his lip and Kim was sure he wouldn’t have lasted much longer if someone hadn’t knocked intensely on the door. Startled, they pulled back instantly, letting go of each other’s hands and turning to face the door.

Antoine Griezmann’s messy head peeked through the door. Julian didn’t know what to make of the striker, but by the glare Presnel gave him, it looked like getting into people’s business was a usual thing.

“Sorry to interrupt but,” he took a deep breath. “The bus is about to leave and if you take half a second more Deschamps is gonna have your head.”

A lot of thoughts about Griezmann crossed Julian’s mind: his haircut (if you could call that a haircut) made no sense, his blue eyes shined a lot, he spoke really fast and that tiny smirk pasted on his face was really annoying him.

“Fuck off Grizou.” Presnel spat.

The French striker shrugged. “Gladly. But please stop smooching with the enemy and come to the bus, you can fuck each other later.”

Julian was sure Pres was about to punch his teammate when someone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the door. Julian heard some squirming followed by what sounded like scolding before Hugo Lloris appeared through the door.

“Excuse Antoine, he doesn’t know how to behave,” the shortest man glared at him. “But we really should get going.”

Presnel frowned and reached out for Julian protectively. “You go, I’ll take a taxi.”

Griezmann scoffed, earning a slap on the back of his head. “Pres you can’t take a taxi, come on.” Hugo said exasperatedly. “Julian can join us later but now you have to go.”

From Julian’s point of view, Hugo was the exact definition of the team’s Dad. He thought Presnel had been joking when he told him how Hugo was always following them, making sure they were okay and scolding them if they didn't behave correctly; it was clear now that Presnel had been telling the truth.

“I'll talk to the mister, but I'm not going. Geez, we aren't children, Coach needs to chill for a bit…” Presnel would have kept rambling if Julian hadn't put a hand on his shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

“Pres you should go.” The German continued speaking before his boyfriend had time to reply. “I can come over later to watch the game if you want, but please don't get in trouble for me, I'll be fine.”

He stared at Julian like he had just suggested murdering someone. The midfielder gave him a small smile Presnel guessed was supposed to be comforting. Instead, it only made him want to hug Jules until all his pains had gone away. He was about to argue some more when Julian held his hand and practically begged him to go with his eyes.

“Please.” Julian’s voice wasn’t louder than a whisper, so soft it made Presnel shiver.

So, with a hard heart, he kicked Antoine and Hugo out of the room, pecked Julian softly on the lips and headed to the bus.

Presnel practically jumped of his bed when, an hour later, he heard a soft knock on his door. He rushed to open it, practically crashing into Julian when he came into view.

“You are smothering me,” the German whimpered, squeezed tightly into Kim’s arms.

“Sorry, sorry.” Presnel quickly apologized, instantly setting him free. Julian chuckled, his brown eyes shiny. “Did you have dinner?”

Jules nodded, so Presnel stepped aside so he could come inside the room. They sat comfortably on the bed, Julian’s head resting on Presnel’s shoulder and their fingers intertwined. The game had already started, and Julian was rambling about how good Germany were doing and how he hoped they could win so France could get to the final instead of Holland. They screamed from the top of their lungs when Sané scored the second goal, hugging and jumping all around the room. It was the first time since they had met, they were rooting for the same team, usually they just cared that the other one was happy which meant that as long as it didn’t mean one had to lose, they were fine with it. But they had never, ever been on the same side, not like this.

But nothing good lasts forever.

With horror, they watched as Holland scored on the 85th minute. After the goal, they stayed quiet and still, clutching to each other as if moving would make Holland score again. So, when they did, on the last minute, Julian and Presnel didn’t know how to react. They kept watching the game, in a daze, as if Germany was going to be able to turn the match around in the 6 minutes the referee had added. Neither of them thought it was possible, yet they didn’t say anything.

When the game ended, Pres sighed, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected Holland to turn it around, Germany hadn’t been exactly brilliant this last season (not that he was going to ever say that to Julian). Speaking of which, Julian hadn’t moved an inch since the game had ended: his eyes were still glued to the screen and he was still holding Presnel’s hand tightly. The Frenchman felt his heart drop.

“Well, I guess that’s over,” he tried to shrug it off.

Sure, it stung, and it was definitely a comedown after winning the World Cup, but almost half of the squad were injured, and Holland had played really well on Friday, there was nothing else they could have done.

“I’m sorry.” Julian’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I should have been there… I…”

The last thing Presnel wanted to hear in that moment were Julian’s heartbreaking sobs. At first, he didn’t understand why he was apologizing or crying until he realized _he was blaming himself._ Julian was blaming himself for not being at the match and it broke Presnel’s heart.

“Jules, Jules, it’s not your fault… It’s not… Come on, you can’t blame yourself for this, because it’s not your fault okay?”

Julian wasn’t listening, he just kept sobbing and apologizing and saying nonsense about how he should have been playing and helping Presnel. The Frenchman didn’t know what to do, Julian didn’t want to listen to him and he didn’t know how to convince him that it wasn’t his fault.

Seeing that Julian couldn’t care less about his comfort words, Presnel wrapped his arms around him and let him sob into his chest. He really didn’t want to listen to Julian’s self-deprecating rambling, he wanted his boyfriend to be okay and stop blaming himself for something that might not have changed if Julian had been there. However, he knew that Julian only needed to let it all out, that he was underneath a lot of stress, that a lot of things were going on inside his head at the time.

So he held him closely while Julian cried himself to sleep.


End file.
